AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Long ropes drop from the clifftops down to the shining water at the bottom of the gorge, black cords against the brown rock. They’re cables with pods attached to them, linked to pulley systems. If I squint, I can see two people sitting in one of the pods as it slowly ascends the face of the cliff.
The Elves are not entirely averse to mechanics and technology, it would seem. But they prefer to keep their machines simple and clean—probably aided with magic as well as science. What little smoke there is carries the fragrance of charred wood, not coal.
The sound of rushing water attracts my attention. There’s an enormous waterfall on the opposite side of the gorge, off to the right of my window. It falls in a shining, thundering mass of white foam, all the way down to the river. I’ve never seen a waterfall so immense. Some of the smaller waterfalls in the ravine have water-wheels at their base, carefully placed to harness the power of the river—but the largest waterfall has no such installation. It is untamable, ancient, brimming with not only physical force, but magical energy as well. Even I, a mere human, can feel the humming power of that marvelous cascade.
Boats dot the surface of the river below, though they keep well away from the thundering foot of the falls.
Something creaks behind me, and I spin around to see Bede entering the room, carrying a tray with a steaming bowl and a mug.
She sets the tray on a dresser and signs to me. You’re awake, thank goddess!
“It’s just my monthly bleeding.” I grimace, embarrassed. “It gets bad sometimes.”
It’s not only that. You’re exhausted from everything you’ve been through. She points to the mug on the tray. This tea will help with the cramps. They gave you one dose when we arrived, and then I got you to bed.
So she cleaned me up, dressed me, and took care of me. Gratitude expands in my heart, fierce and warm.
“Thank you,” I tell her. “I appreciate what you did, more than you’ll ever know.”
She gives me another of her rare smiles. Eat your soup quickly. We must meet with the Elders.
I’ve barely finished the last of the tea when Lannau and Enthel breeze into the room without knocking.
“The Elders are growing impatient,” says Enthel quietly. “They gave us a little time to rest, for your sake, but now they require an explanation for our presence, or they will banish us from the Sanctuary.”
“Get dressed, get dressed,” urges Lannau. “A few bites of food, a few swallows of tea, and we must go! Quickly now!”
We hurry through the halls of the building so fast I barely have time to register anything. I catch the atmosphere of the place in glimpses: carved archways framing bits of a lush garden, shelves of ancient books crammed into an alcove, statuary framing the doors of a long gallery lined with portrait medallions in gilt frames.
There’s a sense of solemnity, of wealth, yet the place doesn’t have the stuffy elegance of the King’s palace, so repressed and restrictive. There’s a breezy quality to this house—open doors and windows, and the pleasant voices of people moving quickly through the halls, busy about some task or other. Through one archway, I catch the lilt of distant music. We pass a room where several small figures are seated before a taller one, reciting a rhyme in soft, uncertain voices.
“Mind your emotions,” says Enthel, low, as we climb a short stairway. “The Elves respect emotional control, and they do not take kindly to human extremes of emotion, especially in public. That’s one reason Lannau and I left. You’ll be tempted to let all your emotions flood out, to let them know how sincere you are and how much you want to save Rupert. But among the Elves, the more you care, the more control you exert over yourself. Too much reckless emotion is the sign of a shallow soul. The more stoic the visage, the deeper the feeling goes.”
That’s unfortunate for me, the girl who loves to talk loudly about my ideas, the girl who tends to have episodes of panic at pivotal moments. Somehow I’m going to have to fight against every instinct and keep myself perfectly calm during this, the most important encounter of my life.
My stomach flutters with dreadful anticipation, because I’m about to meet the Elves. The Withdrawn, the King, the Goddess’s Favored. I’m meeting them in real life, and Rupert’s fate rests with them.
At the top of the steps, we enter a domed room with windows all around—windows whose glass is tinted amber, gold, and cherry-red. It’s the loveliest room I’ve ever seen, and judging by the glorious sunburst design overhead, it seems to be designed to celebrate the light of the sun.
I try to restrain my delight at the way the stained glass casts pretty colors over the pale tiles of the floor. Instead I concentrate on breathing slowly and deeply, willing my heart to pace itself slower, slower.
Settle down, Juliette. Be calm. Be gracious. The deeper your emotion, the more peaceful you will appear.
I hope it’s working. I think my heart rate is slowing. The cramps in my abdomen are twinging again, but it’s a slight pain, one I can easily handle, thanks to the herbal tea I was given.
The Elders are not standing throughout the room, or sitting in chairs around some central space. There are eight of them, and they are kneeling or reclining on cushions around a low, circular table. Each is occupied with a different task.
One auburn-haired woman with pale skin is grinding some dry leaves with a mortar and pestle; another is crocheting some elaborate garment from silver thread. A man with long white hair is sketching the portrait of another Elf, a handsome dark-haired man with tanned skin and brilliant blue eyes—eyes exactly the same hue as Rupert’s. He glances up, then returns his attention to a ledger of some kind—I can see lists of numbers with notations beside them.
As we move farther into the room, one of the Elders rises, fetches four pillows from a basket in the corner, and lays them out in a row on the floor. There are no servants that I can see. Unlike the courtiers and nobles in the palace of Giltos, these leaders seem to serve themselves and occupy their time with useful work.
I follow Enthel’s and Lannau’s example and kneel on one of the pillows, stealing another glance at the blue-eyed Elven male. His resemblance to Rupert is uncanny, except his face is narrower, sleeker, more refined, and his skin is perfectly smooth.
“I trust you’ve had sufficient rest,” says the woman with the auburn hair. She never takes her eyes from the mortar and pestle, and the word “welcome” is noticeably absent from her speech.
“Yes, thank you,” I respond without thinking. Perhaps I should have let Enthel and Lannau take the lead, but when I glance at Lannau, she gives me a slight nod, so I press forward. “My name is Juliette Wetheris. I bring a gift to the Elders—a precious heirloom, long-lost to your culture, and recently rediscovered by a Half-Elf who used to reside here—the son of the Prime Elder, Lord Argelos. I do not know what name he used among you, but he was sometimes called Rahndek during his wanderings in my part of the world.” I want to call him Rupert, but that name would mean nothing to them.
The blue-eyed Elder looks up from his ledger. His eyes appear emotionless at first, but as I hold his gaze, I realize that they burn with a cold fire from deep, deep within.
